


Red Letters

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [23]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Gen, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, hurt Rhaego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24945019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: On a secret mission to deliver letters from the King, Aramis is intercepted by a masked dragon rider who will stop at nothing to keep those letters from reaching Spain.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 40
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! Thank you to 29Pieces for beta reading and Tessseagull for the Spanish!

Aramis was reading his Bible by candlelight when there was a knock at his door. He paused with a slight frown; when he'd left Porthos and Athos at the tavern, it was under the misassumption that he was going to call upon a lady for the rest of the night. Aramis hadn't bothered to correct them. The truth was he hadn't indulged in any affairs since Adele, and instead, on the nights he bowed out of the tavern early, it was for an appointment of a more spiritual nature.

So, neither Porthos nor Athos had reason to come looking for him here, and d'Artagnan had dutifully gone home to his wife hours earlier. He thought about pretending he wasn't in; the window was fully draped and his meager candlelight likely wasn't visible. But the knock came again.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Treville stepped inside, quietly shutting it behind him.

"Captain," Aramis said in surprise and set his Bible on the nightstand as he rose to his feet.

"Aramis," Treville responded with a nod. "I have a special assignment for you."

His brows lifted slightly, intrigued. "Yes, sir?"

"Louis has written to the King of Spain," Treville began. He reached into the folds of his vest and withdrew a stack of sealed letters bound with red twine. "They must be delivered directly to the King's personal courier. No one else can be entrusted with them. You speak Spanish which makes you the most suited for the errand. There is a Spanish contact stationed at the border in Sanveterre who can send for the courier."

Aramis carefully took the letters from Treville. "How will I verify the courier who comes is legitimate?"

"He'll bear a medallion with Philip's seal," he replied, then paused. "I can't emphasize enough the importance of this mission to the King."

"Yes, sir."

Treville nodded and turned to leave. "And Aramis," he said, hand on the doorknob. "Make sure you leave before anyone else is up." The captain then let himself out.

Aramis let out a long exhalation. Porthos was going to be cross with him for not saying goodbye or where he was going. The captain would have to field his displeasure, though, since the orders were clear that no one was to know about this. Aramis wondered what the letters contained to make them so secretive. France and Spain weren't exactly friends but they had treaties to keep each other in check, not the least of which was a Spanish queen on the throne of France.

But it wasn't for him to know; all he had to do was ensure the delivery of these letters to the right person. He set them in his nightstand drawer under his Bible to retrieve come morning and quickly packed a bag for the trip. He'd have to be up at first light in order to be out of the garrison before too many people were up and about. Fortunately none of his brothers were that much of an early bird. He disliked having to leave without a word, but orders were orders. At least it would only take half a day to reach the border by dragon flight, though he didn't know how long it would then take for the royal courier to be summoned, but hopefully not too long, and Aramis could be back to joining his friends at the tavern in a few days' time.

.o.0.o.

Rhaego was not fond of early mornings. Which made slipping out of the garrison quietly a challenge in itself. When Aramis went to his den to wake him, the russet dragon lolled one irritated eye up at him and then promptly shut it.

"We have orders," Aramis pressed, but that got no reaction. Huffing, he took off his glove and threw it down so it smacked Rhaego in the face. The dragon's eyes opened slowly to glare at him.

Aramis sighed. "You're right," he said. "A dragon would be too conspicuous for such a sensitive mission. I'd be better off taking a horse." He snatched up his glove and turned away. "Of course, that means the journey to Spain will take longer. I'll be gone for at least a week. I'm sure you'll manage. Perhaps Constance will conscript you to help with Ayelet's training."

He kept his back turned as his dragon made an indignant gurgle. With a smile, Aramis started to walk away and didn't stop until Rhaego growled at him. Then he stopped and schooled his expression as he turned back around. Rhaego grumbled low in his throat as he shuffled out of his den.

"Are you sure?" Aramis checked. "I wouldn't want to disrupt your beauty sleep."

Rhaego glowered at him, but Aramis bit back another secret smile. He knew his dragon would never let him go on such a long mission by himself.

He'd already caught and killed a brace of rabbits from the warren and gave them to Rhaego to eat while he retrieved the dragon's tack and fitted the saddle on Rhaego's back. There were a few people up and about by the time they departed, but no one who asked where they were going so early.

They flew for one hour before Aramis stopped to let Rhaego hunt a larger meal and Aramis partook of his own delayed breakfast. From there, they flew for stretches of two and a half hours with a break in between, and arrived at the village of Sanveterre by mid-afternoon. They landed just outside of the town and Aramis spent a few moments lingering by Rhaego's side to assure any passing villagers that the dragon was no threat to them. They received a few nervous stares but no one went screaming.

Aramis patted Rhaego's flank. "Leave the chickens alone," he said and headed into town.

Rhaego grumbled indignantly behind him.

Aramis strode down the dirt road, scanning the buildings for the local inn/tavern, which would be where he would spend his time if he was stationed at some remote outpost with nothing to do but wait for news. He spotted a sign for _Les Chats_ and headed inside, removing his hat as he entered the dimly lit taproom. Aramis swept his gaze around, surveying the few patrons eating or drinking at this time of day. A few were in pairs, but a fair number were also by themselves. Aramis headed for the counter.

"What can I get you?" the proprietor asked.

He placed a coin on the counter. "Wine."

The barkeep got out a cup and a bottle to pour the drink.

"I'm looking for Señor Tabares," Aramis added.

The man glanced up briefly before sliding the cup toward him, then flicked his gaze toward the back corner where a pair of men were playing cards.

Aramis inclined his head in thanks and picked up his drink as he headed over. The two men didn't look up from their game.

"Señor Tabares?" Aramis queried.

"Who wants to know?" the man on the right replied with a thick accent.

" _Estoy aquí por negocios oficiales,_ " Aramis said, switching to Spanish, though this close to the border it was possible several people here spoke it, so he also kept his voice pitched low.

Tabares finally looked up at him, gaze shrewd at Aramis's claim of official business. After a beat, he gave a clipped nod to his companion, who set his cards down and wordlessly excused himself. Aramis slid into the vacated seat.

" _Usted juega?_ " Tabares asked, gathering the cards up and shuffling them.

Aramis canted his head for him to go ahead and deal.

"So," Tabares commented casually. "What is this 'official business'?"

"I have confidential letters for Philip from the King of France," Aramis replied quietly, picking up his hand and giving the cards a cursory look.

"Very well, I will pass them along."

Aramis gave the man a sardonic smile. "My orders are to give them to the King's personal courier."

Tabares regarded him for a long moment before putting two cards down and taking two from the deck. "I'll send for him."

Aramis traded one card. "Be sure to emphasize the sensitive—and timely—nature of the errand."

Tabares revealed his hand: a pair of Queens.

Aramis had three Aces.

They both smirked; neither had bet any money on the hand.

Tabares gathered up the cards again. "I will let you know when he arrives."

Aramis nodded and stood to go back to the counter and request a room. Time to wait.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan hefted the saddle onto Ayelet's back and ducked under her belly to grab the strap from the other side. She wriggled in place, making the belt swing so d'Artagnan had to lunge to catch it.

"Hold still," he grunted, almost pitching face first into the dirt.

Ayelet went rigid—or tried to. She was still vibrating with energy. She seemed eager for saddle training, though obviously it was going to take some getting used to, having the bulky thing strapped to her back, as her resumed fidgeting suggested.

She'd grown quite a bit recently and was now the size of a horse, but with a lithe figure. D'Artagnan would be able to ride her on the ground to get her used to the saddle, but she'd have to put on a bit more muscle before she'd be able to carry his weight plus gear in the air.

He buckled the bottom strap in place, checking to make sure it wasn't too tight, then secured the strap across the front of her chest. She craned her neck back to look at the assembly, cocking her head in apparent contemplation. Then she flexed her wings experimentally.

"See?" d'Artagnan said. "It doesn't hinder your movement."

She danced away, bucking and twisting as though trying to dislodge it. But when it didn't, she let out a toothy grin.

D'Artagnan crossed his arms. "You gonna try to throw me off like that? Gee, thanks."

She immediately ducked her head contritely and shuffled over to stand next to him. She squawked and flicked her nose toward her back.

He grinned. "No flying yet. We'll just take a few laps around the yard, okay?"

She let out a disappointed sounding gargle but continued to shuffle in place impatiently.

D'Artagnan reached up to grab the pommel and pulled himself into the saddle, settling with a beaming smile of his own. It felt good.

Ayelet started off with a sedate walk, making a circuit of the compound. But then she abruptly lurched forward into a lumbering pace.

"Whoa!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, gripping the pommel to hold on. Riding dragonback on the ground was not as smooth as flight.

Ayelet pulled up short and craned her neck back to look at him, eyes glinting with delight. She let out a short trill that he suspected meant something along the lines of, "see, I didn't let you fall."

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"You two look good together," Constance called as she came out of the house and headed toward them. "Our little one is almost all grown up."

D'Artagnan leaned forward to pat Ayelet's neck. Indeed she was. There was a tinge of bittersweetness to it, but she was growing into a magnificent creature. Her pearly scales scintillated with striations of teal, amethyst, and sage. She was the most regal dragon d'Artagnan had ever seen; she'd be a queen among them someday, he imagined.

But in the meantime…

"We're gonna need a lot more practice," he said to her.

She beamed eagerly.

.o.0.o.

There wasn't much for Aramis and Rhaego to do while waiting for the royal courier to arrive. Aramis took Rhaego into the mountains and occupied himself with cleaning and polishing his weapons while his dragon hunted, far away from any livestock. After it was clear to the villagers that the musketeer dragon rider would be staying a while, some of the more curious children ventured out to meet him, and Aramis entertained them with a basic introduction to dragons. He was certain their parents would be properly horrified.

He spent the evenings in the tavern playing cards with Tabares. The first night he lost enough to ensure he'd be out of the inn and sleeping in a field with Rhaego, but then the second night won it back.

Fortunately, the next day Tabares pulled Aramis aside and said the courier had arrived.

Aramis scanned the taproom for an unfamiliar face. "Where is he?"

"Not here," Tabares said quietly and headed outside.

Aramis followed. Tabares led the way around the back of the inn to a stable. Inside, a man was just handing over his horse to the stableboy.

" _Buenas días, Tabares_ ," he greeted.

" _Rodrigo. Conozca al señor Aramis de los mosqueteros de Francia._ "

" _Buenas_ _días_ ," Aramis said in turn, studying the man carefully.

" _¿Dónde están estas cartas que debo entregar a Su Majestad?_ " Rodrigo asked after the royal correspondence without preamble.

" _¿Qué, no quiere una copa en la taberna primero después de su largo viaje?_ " Aramis replied, glibly inviting him to have a drink after his long journey first.

Rodrigo regarded him just as shrewdly.

Aramis shrugged in concession. " _Ah, ¿supongo que tiene prueba de su identidad?_ " he added, asking for proof of identity.

" _¿Mi palabra no es suficiente?_ " Tabares interjected, seeming affronted that him vouching for this man wasn't enough.

" _Hay que estar seguro cuando se trata de asuntos tan delicados,_ " Aramis replied. " _Estoy seguro de que usted haría lo mismo._ "

Tabares let out a soft snort but didn't object to the statement that he would do the same when it came to sensitive matters.

Rodrigo reached under his shirt collar and lifted out a medallion with the King of Spain's seal imprinted on it.

Aramis exhaled the tension he'd been holding in ever since the introductions. One really never could be too careful. He reached into his coat to pull out the letters when a musket shot cracked the air, and Rodrigo flew backwards. Aramis ducked and whirled in search of the shooter, his hand abandoning the letters to go for his pistol.

Tabares seized him by the collar and slammed him against the stable door. " _¡Cabrón traidor!_ "

Aramis didn't have a chance to exclaim he wasn't behind this when another shot jerked Tabares away from him. Aramis whipped his gaze across the street but he couldn't see their assailant. He crouched down and reached for Tabares's throat to feel for a pulse. Cursing under his breath, he moved further into the stable to check Rodrigo. He was also dead.

A whimper had him twisting around, but it was just the stableboy cowering in one of the stalls. Aramis snatched a saddle blanket off a rail and tossed it at him. "Stay hidden!"

Aramis then stood, pistol raised, and inched back toward the open doors. He finally spotted a man with a low-brim hat and a cloth over his nose and mouth reloading a pistol. Aramis took aim and fired, but the masked man must have seen him because he ducked down at the last second and then popped back up to fire off his shot. The ball struck the door by Aramis's shoulder, sending splinters of wood flying.

He whipped out his second pistol and returned fire again, but the man was quick to take cover from the shot. When the masked assailant swept back out again, it was with a musket.

"Rhaego!" Aramis shouted, ducking behind the door. Surely his dragon could hear all this shooting going on.

A thunderous roar answered him…followed by another one. Aramis snapped his gaze to the side and saw Rhaego on a path toward him. But another red dragon had swept down from the sky to cut him off. A second pair of resounding shrieks rent the air as the dragons clashed.

Movement in his peripheral vision brought Aramis back to his own situation as the masked man charged toward him, sword drawn. He barely had time to unsheathe his own blade to meet steel for steel. Unable to holster his spent pistol, he had to use it as a blunt parrying instrument against his opponent.

The man was skilled—and determined. He bore down on Aramis with relentless ferocity. Aramis managed to twist under his arm and retreat outside where he had more room, but his attention was once again distracted by a geyser of flame spewing into the air. It caught one of the buildings and began to spread. Screams resounded through the town.

Aramis jerked back to center and parried several strikes aimed to take him down. He had to retreat, had to draw the fight away from the town before more people were killed. He had to protect the King's letters.

"Rhaego!" he yelled in a warning tone, then used one of Porthos's dirty tricks to catch his opponent's blade and used the opportunity to surge forward and drive a knee up into his groin.

A startled gasp spilled past the mask as he bowed forward. Aramis shoved him away and spun to locate his dragon. Rhaego had also gotten the upper hand and flung the other dragon aside to roll across the road and slam into one of the buildings, shaking its walls. Aramis burst into a sprint, fumbling to sheathe his sword so he could leap straight into the saddle. Rhaego gave a mighty roar and flapped his wings, lifting them into the air.

There was a crack like thunder and Rhaego's flight abruptly buckled as he screeched. Aramis clung to the saddle, eyes whipping around. His dragon had been hit, Aramis knew it, but he couldn't see where.

With another pained cry, Rhaego continued to thwack his wings in a desperate bid to escape with their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

Rhaego's flight juddered with each strained beat of his wings and he kept tilting to the left. He wouldn't make it far like this. Aramis glanced over his shoulder for signs of pursuit, but the other red dragon had yet to launch into the sky after them. They needed to take cover quickly.

He leaned forward over Rhaego's neck. "Take us down. The woods at the base of the mountains."

Rhaego angled himself for a downward trajectory. The trees rushed up to meet them, and Rhaego skimmed the tops before finding a clearing large enough to set down in. He landed with a jarring stumble rather than pulling up at the last second with his wings to alight gently. Aramis grunted and gripped the saddle's pommel tightly so as not to be unseated. The moment Rhaego had found his balance though, he swiftly dismounted.

"Where were you hit?"

Rhaego let out a plaintive croak and thrust his nose toward his left wing. Aramis ducked around to the dragon's other side and scanned the appendage. He found a tattered hole in the leathery sail between two phalanges that the musket ball had ripped right through. The wound was wider than it should have been, probably having been torn further by flight.

Aramis ran a hand over his hair as he evaluated the situation. Wings were tricky, and injuries to the skeletal structure often resulted in permanent damage. In that, Rhaego was lucky. But the only thing Aramis could see to do for it was needlework, and he had never sewn up a dragon before.

"Alright," he breathed, turning to face his dragon. "I think I should stitch it."

Rhaego's eyes narrowed.

"That's skin, not scales," Aramis reasoned. "The wound is too wide to heal on its own. You don't want to lose the ability to fly, do you?"

Rhaego's expression pinched further.

It was a low blow, and Aramis didn't even know if it was the truth, but he didn't want to risk it. He also didn't know whether flying would be feasible with stitches in one wing, but it definitely wasn't with a gaping hole.

He went to one of the saddlebags to retrieve his med kit.

Rhaego rumbled low in his throat.

"You're as bad as Porthos."

Too bad Savron wasn't here to pull an Athos and knock Rhaego out.

"You know I'd never hurt you," Aramis added, giving his dragon a serious look.

Rhaego smacked his lips in disgruntlement but ducked his gaze in acquiescence and lowered himself to the ground.

Aramis laid out the med kit and automatically reached for the flask of spirits. He sighed. "I do have to clean it," he warned.

Rhaego glowered at him again.

"Don't be an infant. How many times have you seen me get patched up?" He took out a square patch of cloth to dampen with the spirits, rather than pouring a generous amount over the wing. Then he stood and moved closer to the laid out appendage. There were a few streaks of glistening blood from tiny vessels bursting, but overall the wound was clean. Aramis gently wiped the cloth around the edges.

Rhaego hissed but otherwise held still.

"This would be the part where I'd offer the alcohol to the patient to take a swig, but since that will give you the hiccups and now really isn't the time for fireworks, I'm afraid you'll just have to suck it up like the doughty dragon you are," Aramis prattled on in a calm tone as he picked up a needle and strand of horse hair. After threading it, he positioned himself over the wing, grimacing at the unfortunate angle. He was determined to do a good job, though, and so even though his shoulders and back felt the strain, he set to his task with resolute concentration.

Rhaego snorted and snuffled a few times throughout the procedure, and Aramis could feel the tension in the dragon's wing, but otherwise he was a remarkably good patient, even when Aramis had to tug a bit firmly to pull two edges together.

He finally tied off the last suture and cut the excess thread, then examined his work. The sewing was tight and straight and looked like it would hold—under normal circumstances. He still wasn't sure about flying.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Rhaego huffed but tentatively stretched his wing. Aramis knelt down to put the med kit away. As he straightened, he caught sight of a red dragon circling in the distance. He stiffened and quickly packed the med kit back into the saddlebag.

"Under the trees," he said urgently.

Rhaego stood and the two of them hurried to the tree line to take cover and watch the other dragon. It continued to fly in what looked like a search pattern. So, they were being hunted. Why? For the letters Aramis was carrying? If so, then there was a spy at Court.

Again, he wondered what the letters could possibly contain. Not that it mattered; his duty was clear—he could not let them fall into enemy hands.

He looked at Rhaego and pursed his mouth. "You, my friend, are going to need some camouflage before we attempt to break cover."

Rhaego quirked a confused look at him.

Aramis had a vague idea of how they might achieve it, but they'd have to get moving first.

"Keep under the trees," he instructed as he started off, heading north. It would take them weeks to walk all the way back to Paris, and that certainly wasn't practical. No, they'd have to risk flying eventually, regardless of Rhaego's injury. But they had to try to avoid a confrontation with their mysterious attacker.

Aramis was able to move more quickly through the woods than Rhaego, and so he went ahead to scout the area. An hour later, he finally found something that would work for their camouflage problem. He let out a short whistle to let Rhaego know where to find him and crouched down on the bank of the stream. A few minutes later, his dragon came lumbering out of the trees.

Aramis straightened and put his hands on his hips. "What do you say to a mud bath?"

Rhaego's expression scrunched up dubiously.

"Your red coloring is too easily spotted," Aramis explained. "My best idea is you get all caked up in brown."

His dragon's eyes widened at that and he made a gurgling noise that sounded unsure.

Aramis spread his arms. "Unless you have a better one?"

Rhaego didn't respond for a moment, then snorted heavily.

Aramis gestured to a patch of earth on the bank. "If you can get a good amount of water up here, we should be able to make enough mud to cover most of your body and legs. The wings we'll have to leave alone, of course."

It wasn't a foolproof plan, but he hoped it would be enough to make them not so easy a target when they ventured into the open again.

Rhaego huffed and shambled down to the stream, then turned around. Dipping his tail into the water, he arched it back, then flicked it forward forcefully, aiming a huge splash up onto the bank. He did it two more times until the water was beginning to pool on the surface. Aramis knelt down and plunged his hands into the dirt, mixing it further until it was a cold, gloopy unguent. Then, with two handfuls, he stood and walked over to start plastering it over Rhaego's hide.

It was a tedious, messy process, with larger glops sometimes plopping to the ground rather than sticking. Aramis worked around the saddle—no need to paint that—down Rhaego's legs and tail and up his neck. He then smeared some streaks over his face and forehead.

"You know, Norse warriors would paint their faces before battle to make themselves look fearsome," Aramis commented.

Rhaego dabbed his nose at a patch of mud on his leg and then abruptly shoved it into Aramis's face. The marksman reeled back with a sputter, unable to wipe the offending muck away with his hands already caked in it.

"Thank you," he said dryly, huffing as he surveyed his work. "Well, I suppose we've done our best."

He walked back to the stream to wash off his hands and face, then stood and squinted up at the sky. They needed a better vantage point.

They set off under the trees again until they found a sparse patch of growth along the base of the mountain that gave them a full view of the sweeping countryside. The skies looked clear. Perhaps their assailant had given up, though Aramis doubted it.

He turned to Rhaego. "You good to fly?"

Rhaego flicked a considering look at his wing, then bobbed his head.

Aramis climbed into the saddle. "Keep low to the ground, just in case it gives you trouble. We should be harder to spot that way too."

They wouldn't make it back to Paris very quickly without taking a high altitude, but at the moment Aramis was more concerned with putting distance between them and their mysterious attacker.

Rhaego stretched his wings and gave an experimental flap, then lumbered forward to step off a short rock ledge and go coasting down toward the open countryside. Aramis kept an eye on his wing while also scanning the skies for the other red dragon. He wasn't prepared for it to come launching at them from a copse of trees to their left. Rhaego banked sharply to avoid a collision and beat his wings to carry them higher. The red dragon careened after them, the masked man on its back.

Aramis held on as the equally matched dragons twisted and flew in attacking circles. The other dragon arced beneath Rhaego and then surged upward to slam into him. The impact knocked Aramis from the saddle and he fell. His anchor line snapped taut, halting his plummet to his death, but now he was dangling beneath Rhaego as the two dragons continued to attack each other mid-air.

The ground far below was a sickening blur of greens and browns and Aramis's stomach was still in his throat from his brief plunge. He gripped the rope tightly, trying to right himself, for all the good it did in this sparring spiral.

Rhaego shrieked and vaulted into a roll, talons scrabbling to snatch Aramis out of the air. He grunted at the rough catch, but at least he wasn't dangling freely anymore.

The other red dragon finally pulled back several feet, allowing his rider to take aim with a pistol.

"Rhaego!" Aramis shouted in warning.

His dragon banked sideways and belched out a stream of fire at their assailants, who were forced to veer away. Aramis strained to reach the saddle, gripping the chest strap and managing to hook his foot into the stirrup. With strenuous effort, he climbed out of Rhaego's grasp and back into the saddle, his heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest.

The red dragon was behind them, but Aramis could tell Rhaego's wing was straining to maintain their speed and soon they'd be caught in a mid-air dog fight again. They needed to do something.

Aramis fumbled for his ammunition's pouch where he kept a stash of acimite balls. But just as he pulled one out and was reaching for his pistol to load it, a searing pain ripped through his right shoulder. The air punched from his lungs and he collapsed forward over Rhaego's neck, the ball falling from lax fingers to plummet toward the earth. Rhaego shrieked in response and went into a nosedive. Aramis struggled to hold on and breathe through the fire in his shoulder as his dragon gained speed. Then Rhaego abruptly arched upward into a loop, the momentum enough to keep Aramis from falling as they circled upside down and over the other dragon to come at him from behind. The red dragon barely had time to react before Rhaego was spewing a massive burst of flames at him. It swept over their enemy and the dragon went hurtling toward the ground to escape them. Rhaego turned the other direction and went sailing toward the mountains.

Aramis was sucking staggered air into his lungs as Rhaego took them into the mountainous region and found a place to land. He nearly passed out at the jarring touch-down and remained in the saddle, bowed over the front. Rhaego squawked in alarm, twisting his neck around and jostling Aramis further.

He carefully swung his leg over the back of the saddle and slid off, leaving a smear of red behind on the leather. Glancing down, he found a hole on the right side of his shoulder and a trail of blood down the front of his coat. So the ball had gone straight through. Small mercies. Not that he was in very good shape. He could feel wetness on the back of his shoulder as well and half his body was on fire.

He used his shaky left hand to fish out his med kit from the saddle bag, then staggered away to find a place to sit down. He nearly tripped when the anchor line he'd forgotten to disconnect tugged at his bruised waist. Aramis sank to his knees under a wave of agony.

Rhaego let out a worried warble and shuffled closer, giving the rope more slack. Aramis fumbled to unhook it from his belt, then opened his med kit. He wouldn't be able to sew the wounds closed, even if he was inclined to try stitching himself up. He couldn't reach his back anyway.

Fighting against swells of nausea and dizziness, Aramis managed to get two patches of cloth out and soak them with spirits. Then, breathing harshly through his nose as he braced himself, he wedged one cloth under his shirt and pressed it against the exit wound. The burn was immediate and all-encompassing, and he had to bite his lip and hunch forward against the urge to move the offending cloth away. Instead he forced himself to press harder until the piece could stay in place for a short time. He then repeated the process with the second cloth, reaching up and behind to lay it over the entrance wound.

His breaths were coming shorter and faster now but he couldn't allow himself to pass out. He struggled to undo his sash from his waist and then wrapped it around his back and shoulder as best he could. He looped the ends together in a loose knot, then held up one end to Rhaego.

"Hold tight," he said breathlessly.

Rhaego took the end of the scarf in his mouth. Counting to three, Aramis pulled on the other end as hard as he could, choking on a strangled cry as it tightened against his body. But at least it was secure and would hopefully stop the bleeding.

Aramis stayed on his knees for several long moments, panting and dizzy. Rhaego mewled beside him. He finally managed to lift his head and scan the sky. It would be dark soon. Now would be the time to make a run for it, in case the other dragon and his rider had been seriously waylaid by Rhaego's last burst of flame.

But they couldn't know that for sure, and Aramis would never make it through another firefight in the air.

He craned his head toward Rhaego. "How's your wing?"

Rhaego's expression pinched and he slowly brought the appendage forward. Aramis's heart sank; the stitches had torn.

"I suppose that means we're grounded," he sighed. And stranded. In the mountains, with a relentless hunter on their tail.

Yes, their situation was getting dire.

Another wave of dizziness made his head spin. "We need to find cover for the night," he said and started to roll up his med kit. He then struggled to stand, having to lean on Rhaego.

Aramis stowed the med kit back in the saddlebag and they started off, picking a direction and simply walking. Or shambling was more accurate. Aramis focused on putting one foot in front of the other even though every bone in his body was screaming at him to lie down.

Rhaego pulled up short and made a trilling sound as he gestured with his nose toward a small outcropping of rocks with a slanted ledge and just enough space underneath for a dragon to crawl under.

Aramis patted Rhaego's shoulder and they changed direction to head for it. Rhaego had to duck and shuffle in but it wasn't too cramped. Aramis eased himself down onto the cold granite. He was shivering but knew they couldn't risk a fire lest their pursuer was still out there.

Rhaego shifted and shimmied until he was wrapped around his rider. Aramis leaned back into the crook of his dragon's shoulder and closed his eyes as the sun waned and the nocturnal choir of the woods lulled him into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Treville stared at the report in his hand, dread coiled around his heart like a gallows noose. He'd received word that morning, a full day after the incident in Sanveterre. Aramis and Rhaego had not returned in that time, which for Treville made them missing. Carrying one of the most sensitive pieces of royal affairs the country over.

He ran a hand down his face. Aramis was a good soldier, and Treville had sent him alone so as to not draw attention to his mission. It was obviously a miscalculation on his part. One he hoped he wasn't going to regret permanently.

A knock at the door interrupted his grim thoughts.

"Enter."

The door opened and Athos and Porthos stepped inside.

"You wanted to see us?" Athos asked mildly.

Treville dropped the report onto his desk and straightened. "I just received word there was an attack at Sanveterre yesterday. Two Spanish agents were killed."

"Sanveterre is on French soil," Athos said carefully.

Treville nodded. "There was a Spanish contact stationed there. He's dead. So is Philip's royal courier. Aramis was supposed to be meeting them. He's now missing."

Athos and Porthos stiffened and exchanged careful looks at that news.

"Is there conjecture that Aramis was responsible for the attack?" Athos asked.

"According to witness statements from the townspeople, no. Whether the Spanish believe it or not, I don't know, and that's not my main concern right now. Aramis was carrying confidential letters from the King to Spain. With the royal courier dead, he did not succeed in his mission. Those letters must be found before they fall into the wrong hands."

"Could the attack have been an attempt to steal the letters?" Athos asked next.

Treville shook his head. "Anything's possible. Which makes the fact that Aramis and Rhaego are missing even more disturbing. I want you two to head south and find him."

His men gave brisk nods and turned to leave immediately. Treville silently wished them Godspeed.

And now he had one more notification to make, one he was not looking forward to.

He picked up his pauldron and buckled it onto his coat, then donned his blue cloak and hat. With heavy steps, he left his office and made his way on foot to the palace. Once there, he was escorted into one of the many libraries where Louis was working on one of his miniature ship models. Treville gritted his teeth when he saw Richelieu was there as well, along with some of the Cabinet members. They appeared to be discussing affairs of state, something the King probably should have been paying more attention to. The Queen was sitting on a settee by one of the windows with a book in hand.

"Captain Treville," Richelieu greeted, having spotted him. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Treville cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, if I might have a moment in private."

Louis gave a bored wave of his hand, dismissing the Cabinet and personal attendants. Richelieu regarded them for a slow beat before following. Treville waited for the doors to close heavily behind their exit.

"Yes, what is it?" Louis asked.

Treville steeled himself. "It's about Aramis."

"Aramis?" Anne spoke up.

"He's gone missing. So have your letters."

Louis's eyes widened and he surged to his feet, flicking a harried glance at the door the Cardinal had left through. "You assured me he was trustworthy," he hissed. "Do you realize what's at stake?"

"There's no need for panic," Treville said.

"I am not—" Louis caught his rising voice and lowered it again. "I am not panicking." He whirled toward Anne. "This is your fault. You told me to be my own man."

"We must let Captain Treville handle it," she urged. "He will not let us down."

Treville internally grimaced at the statement of faith. He trusted his men; he trusted Aramis, but that only meant something terrible would have had to befallen the marksman to keep him from completing his mission, or returning from a failed one.

"The Cardinal must not find out about those letters," Louis pressed. "Do you understand? He must not know!"

Treville could only incline his head in understanding. He did know. He also knew the Cardinal had spies everywhere and he would not put it past the man to have sniffed out the nature of Aramis's mission. But he certainly wasn't going to suggest it to Louis and put the King in an even more panicked snit.

Louis took a breath and shook his head at the captain. "Oh, you have disappointed me, Treville."

With that, he turned and marched from the room.

Treville's shoulders sagged under the weight of responsibility that came with serving a king. It was an honor, most of the time.

And sometimes it was treacherous waters.

"I know Aramis will do everything in his power to safeguard the letters," Anne spoke up.

"He will," Treville promised.

"And his dragon is with him?" she asked hopefully.

Treville nodded.

Anne smiled. "Then I'm sure they'll be all right."

It was true; it would take a lot to bring down a dragon rider and his dragon.

Which was what worried Treville.

.o.0.o.

Rhaego didn't sleep that night. Oh, he was exhausted and there was a raw burning in his tattered wing when the crisp night air seeped into the torn edges, but his rider was gravely wounded and they were vulnerable. Aramis had almost immediately passed out once they'd found this low overhang to take shelter under, which meant it was up to Rhaego to keep watch. He almost nodded off a few times and had to force himself to shift his injured wing so the pain would jolt him awake again. The dried mud on his scales itched in places he couldn't reach, and he had to remind himself not to fidget and disturb his rider.

Dawn eventually seeped into the sky but Aramis remained asleep. Rhaego carefully sniffed him. There was the tang of dried blood, but nothing fresher, which was good. Rhaego didn't know what to do. If Aramis didn't wake soon, he would have to take action, get his rider to safety.

But it would be agonizing to fly, and if they were attacked again, Rhaego didn't know if he could safeguard his rider. So he waited.

The patter of a tiny heartbeat drew his attention in the otherwise still woods and he rolled his eye toward it. A rabbit had ventured out of its burrow and was snuffling through the underbrush for vegetation, mistaking the nearby slumbering predator for a pile of rock. Rhaego's stomach cramped with hunger. His rider would also need nourishment. But there was no way Rhaego could be up and pouncing on the rabbit before it could flee without trampling the human currently cradled against him. He worked his jaw silently as he considered his options. Aramis couldn't eat raw meat anyway…

Rhaego kindled his fire, his belly warming as a fulvous glow ignited a lattice work of veins. He waited until the flame was filling his throat and then opened his mouth and belched it out at the rabbit, engulfing it in fire.

Aramis jerked and flailed against him as he startled awake, his hand shooting toward his weapons belt, only to abort and reach for his injured shoulder instead. "What…" he asked breathlessly, looking around for an attack.

Rhaego cringed abashedly and slowly stood up. He shuffled out from under the overhang and went to pick up the charred carcass. Then he brought it back and deposited it at his rider's feet.

Aramis blinked dubiously at it, then huffed out a laugh that quickly morphed into a grimace. "Well, this is a first, you bringing me breakfast."

Rhaego lowered his nose and nudged the rabbit closer to him.

Aramis gave him a wan smile. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid my stomach isn't feeling up to food at the moment. You should eat it. I doubt you'll get a chance to properly hunt if that other dragon is still out there."

Rhaego trilled querulously, unsatisfied with that response, even as his stomach rumbled traitorously.

Aramis's expression softened. "Can you move sideways for a moment so I can reach my canteen? Water's more important to counteract blood loss right now."

Rhaego grudgingly obeyed, sidestepping and crouching down so Aramis could reach the saddlebag from his place on the ground. He waited a few moments to see if he would change his mind about the rabbit, but Aramis just gave him a look and gestured to the carcass. Rhaego grumbled and turned to snatch up the catch. He smacked his jaw in distaste at the mouthful of char he got as a result.

"A little too crispy for you?" Aramis quipped.

Rhaego scrunched his nose in response and swallowed the rabbit as quickly as he could.

Aramis took another careful sip of water, then visibly wilted. "We're in quite a mess, my friend."

Rhaego eyed his rider in concern.

After a long moment, Aramis roused himself and struggled to push himself up to stand. "We can't stay here, at least." He craned his neck back and squinted at the sky. "I don't even remember how high in the mountains we landed," he went on. "But that way's north. A search party will no doubt be sent after us before we ever manage to walk home, but we might as well start."

He capped his canteen and stuffed it back into the saddlebag, then turned to start moving. Rhaego let out an indignant squawk, causing Aramis to turn around and furrow his brows in question. Rhaego cocked his head toward his back and fixed his rider with a stern glower.

Aramis sighed and shook his head with a small smile. "Only for you, my friend."

He hobbled over and struggled to pull himself up into the saddle. Rhaego snaked his head around to give him a boost up with his nose. Aramis grunted as he finally landed in the seat.

"Thanks," he said breathlessly. "And if you spot any rabbits along the way, feel free to barbecue them."

Rhaego gurgled unhappily at the prospect of more burned meat, but the hard fact of the matter was they were in dire shape and, what was the human phrase? Beggars couldn't be choosers.

.o.0.o.

Athos and Porthos arrived at Sanveterre to find townspeople sifting through the detritus of three burned buildings. They also discovered they were not the only dragon riders to have come. A block away stood two dragons decked out in Spanish colors. Athos did a quick scan for their riders and spotted two men standing next to a wagon with a tarpaulin covering something in the back. They caught sight of him as well, and for a moment they merely stared at each other.

"Think the Spanish were behind this?" Porthos asked quietly.

"I doubt they would kill their own agents," Athos replied. "More likely someone knew what Aramis was carrying and didn't want the letters to reach their destination."

"Could still be a Spanish spy," Porthos muttered.

"A Spanish traitor."

If that was the case.

Athos turned away from the Spaniards and walked toward some of the villagers. "We're looking for information on what happened," he announced.

Most of the people exchanged nervous looks but one man stepped forward.

"We've repeated it half a dozen times already," he said defensively, but his eye drifted to their pauldrons.

"The musketeer that was here on a red dragon, what happened to him?"

"He and his beast flew off during the attack."

"Did anyone see who started it?"

The man shrugged. "We heard shots. Several of 'em. The musketeer's dragon came charging into the town and then there was a second beast. They fought. And did this." He gestured to the destruction.

"What color was the second dragon?" Porthos asked.

"Red."

"The musketeer's dragon was red," Athos said, prompting clarification.

"They both were."

Well, that gave them something specific to look for.

"Did anyone see where it came from, or where it went?"

The man scoffed. "We were a little busy."

Athos canted his head, signaling he could go. He turned to Porthos. "Aramis would head north, at least."

"That's a lot of ground to cover," Porthos commented grimly. "Too bad we don't have Rhaego's nose wit' us this time."

"We'll assume a straight course, fly a mile apart to search a wider area. With any luck, Aramis can just as easily spot us first."

They went back to their dragons to mount up and set off to search for their missing brother.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan rode Ayelet in another circuit around the dragon compound. They were still working out the kinks of nonverbal communication in the saddle. Ayelet was eager to please, but sometimes that meant she'd assume what d'Artagnan wanted based on what they'd been doing rather than paying attention to subtle clues for change. They'd been going in a clockwise circle so he nudged her side with his right heel to signal an abrupt turn the opposite direction. She paused, flicking her head left in confusion before trying to continue the way they were going.

D'Artagnan pressed his heel against her again. She pulled up short and glanced back at him with a frown. "We've been through this," he said in exasperation. "You have to pay attention and trust I know what I'm doing."

Her expression furrowed and she turned left, but then immediately came to a stop again when he didn't give her further instruction.

D'Artagnan bit back a frustrated sigh. "Let's take a break," he said and swung down from the saddle.

He marched across the yard to grab a cup of water he'd left on a barrel top. He didn't notice Constance until she came up to him.

"Everything okay?" she asked gently.

"Fine."

"It's not like you to lose patience with Ayelet."

D'Artagnan hung his head. "I know, and I'm trying not to. It's different than saddle training a horse with reins and a bridle. There's so many nuances. The others always made it look so easy."

Constance gave him a soft smile. "You should have seen them when they first became dragon riders. Porthos was the one getting saddle trained, not Vrita."

D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile at the image, but it quickly faded. "I know I can't push Ayelet to learn quicker, and I know she's not ready yet, but I'm worried about Aramis and if I could just be _out there_ helping to find him and Rhaego…"

Constance put a hand on his arm. "Athos and Porthos will find them and bring them home."

D'Artagnan let out a long breath. He knew that. He just hated feeling so helpless.

Ayelet came over and gave him a querying trill, expression pinched. She then nosed the pauldron on his shoulder.

D'Artagnan sighed. "You heard?"

She cocked her head still in question.

"Aramis and Rhaego are missing," d'Artagnan explained.

Ayelet made an alarmed noise and angled herself to the side, barking pointedly at the saddle.

D'Artagnan smiled fondly. "We can't go. Athos and Porthos are handling it."

She let out a disgruntled gurgle at that and thrust her nose at her back again more fervently.

"You two are a perfect match," Constance said.

D'Artagnan sighed and stepped forward to lay a hand on his dragon's neck. "One day, very soon, you'll be a musketeer, and then we'll have to follow orders. Treville didn't assign us to the rescue mission. But next time, when we're ready, I know we will be."

Ayelet smacked her jaw in displeasure but hung her head in capitulation.

D'Artagnan shifted his gaze toward the sky, hoping to see his brothers—all three of them—returning.

But it was just gray clouds hanging heavily with a rather ominous pall.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun rose further into the sky for all the progress Aramis and Rhaego made trudging through the forest. The exertion wasn't doing Aramis any favors, though staying put in the mountains when no one knew where to look for them wouldn't do him any good in the long-run either. They had to keep going, if only because allowing himself to stop ran the risk he wouldn't get up again.

The sound of running water pricked Aramis's ears and he struggled to lift his head toward it. Rhaego didn't need any prompting though and was already adjusting his path. They came upon a river coursing its way down from the peaks, glinting with golden shards of midday sun. Rhaego walked to the edge and lowered his neck to drink. Aramis painfully and ungracefully slid down from the saddle and hobbled to the bank, dropping to his knees next to his dragon. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed his face. It was cold and biting but gave him the jolt he needed to become more alert.

Rhaego stretched out his neck to submerge it in the river, then lifted it out again and began scratching at the mud on his scales.

Aramis grimaced. "I'm sorry about that."

Rhaego dipped his neck in the water again and wriggled sharply in an attempt to wash the muck off. When he was done, Aramis gestured vaguely with his good arm.

"Let me see your wing."

Rhaego shuffled around to bring the appendage forward. Aramis examined the tear, mouth pursing.

"I'm sorry I can't stitch it again," he said remorsefully. Even if he had wanted to try doing it one-handed, he was dizzy and sick, either from blood loss or infection beginning to set in. Not that it mattered which, since he couldn't do anything about either.

Rhaego looked like he understood.

Aramis swayed on his knees, wanting nothing more than to lie down, but he knew he couldn't. He took in a deep breath, trying to will himself to get up.

A branch snapped, making them both stiffen. Several yards away, the red dragon from before suddenly appeared, slinking his way out from under the trees, his lips pulled back in a sneer and eyes glinting. Rhaego immediately put himself between the enemy and his rider.

Aramis scrambled to his feet, stumbling backward to catch himself against a tree trunk. He was useless in a dragon fight, especially in this condition. But where was the masked rider…

Someone grabbed his wrist and wrenched the arm of his injured shoulder behind his back. He couldn't stop the pained cry that tore from his throat as a knife came up to rest under his chin.

Rhaego whipped his head around and shrieked. The other dragon lunged in that brief moment of distraction, going straight for Rhaego's throat. Aramis's heart seized as the red dragon snapped its jaws around Rhaego's jugular and slammed him onto the ground. Rhaego screeched and thrashed but was trapped in a headlock.

The man holding Aramis leaned close. "Give me the letters."

Aramis gritted his teeth as the blade against his throat nicked his skin. "No."

The knife was withdrawn only for the handle to strike him in the side of the head. Stars burst across his vision as Aramis dropped to the ground. His assailant kicked him onto his back and pressed a boot into his wounded shoulder. Aramis arched off the ground with a strangled cry.

"Give me the letters, or my dragon will rip out your dragon's throat."

Aramis squinted against spotty vision at Rhaego, who continued to struggle under the other dragon's hold, unyielding fangs tearing into his neck and spilling hot blood across the grass. His heart clenched with anguish. It looked like they weren't getting out of this one.

But they would die with honor.

Aramis shifted his gaze back to his attacker's and held it defiantly.

The man snarled and dropped a knee onto Aramis's chest, pressing the knife under his chin again. His shoulder screamed at him and he could barely breathe, making Aramis helpless to stop the man from rifling through his coat until he pulled out the bundle of letters. He tucked them into his own shirt and stood again, then drew a pistol and pointed it at Aramis's chest. Aramis forced his breathing to slow and whispered a silent prayer for his soul.

A dragon screech echoed from above, and the masked attacker turned his head to look. Aramis didn't know who or what it was but he surged upward and grabbed the pistol. The man jerked back and tried to shove Aramis away, but he held on for dear life, trying to wrestle the weapon away from him. There were more echoing dragon calls, but whether they were wild ones or reinforcements, Aramis didn't know, and it didn't matter. He grappled with his opponent until his already waning strength finally failed and he stumbled. The masked man kicked him in the stomach hard and he went falling backward. Instead of ground slamming into his back, Aramis abruptly found himself splashing into the frigid river. Water rushed up and around him as the current yanked him under and he was swept away.

.o.0.o.

Porthos and Athos had been flying in a search pattern for only a few square miles before Vrita banked sharply out of formation. Porthos tightened his grip on the saddle pommel in anticipation, narrowed gaze scanning the area below for whatever his dragon had spotted. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he trusted Vrita.

He let out a shrill whistle he hoped Athos would hear over the distance between them. Sure enough, a few moments later Savron angled his flight toward them.

"What is it?" Athos called.

"Vrita saw somethin'," he answered. At least, he really hoped she had.

She continued to lead the way toward the mountains. Then, where a river cut a path through the woods, Porthos spotted two red dragons tangled in a small clearing. From this distance, Porthos couldn't distinguish them, but Vrita let out a shriek and flapped her wings harder to reach them. As they drew closer, Porthos could make out two human figures down there as well. One was on the ground but leaped up just after Vrita's screech and wrestled with the other. Porthos caught a glimpse of blue—Aramis—and then his heart plummeted when the other figure shoved Aramis back and into the river.

Rhaego's roar rent the air but was suddenly choked off as the dragon on top of him abruptly flung him into some trees with a resounding crack. The man on the ground sprinted to this other red dragon and swung up into the saddle, both of them launching into the air.

"Get Aramis!" Athos yelled to Porthos as Savron veered off to give chase.

Porthos needed no further prompting and squeezed his legs against Vrita's flank to hold on as she angled into a dive, evening out as she swept above the coursing river. Porthos's gaze whipped back and forth across the frothing waters in a desperate search for his brother.

Vrita let out a sharp bark and dipped lower, practically skimming the surface of the water. And Porthos finally caught a glimpse of dark leather bobbing along the current. With one hand holding tight to the pommel, Porthos leaned down and stretched with all his might. His fingers brushed across a body before the current sucked it under and away from him. He growled in rage and strained again when Aramis came back up. The marksman hadn't seen him, wasn't even flailing against the current but being swept away like a rag doll.

Vrita screeched and lashed out with her talons, catching Aramis and dragging him backwards against the current, enough so that Porthos was finally able to snag the back of his coat and haul him up over the saddle.

"Got 'im!"

Vrita banked left, away from the river and back toward the clearing where the fight had gone down. Porthos folded himself over his brother's limp body, heart hammering with terror at Aramis's unresponsiveness.

A minute later, Vrita set down and Porthos swung himself off her back, then urgently reached up to pull Aramis down. His brother was heavy with waterlogged clothes and Porthos staggered under it. He laid Aramis flat on the ground and grasped his chin.

"Aramis!"

His brother's lips were blue and his pallor white.

"Don' you dare," Porthos growled, yanking off his glove and reaching under Aramis's coat to press a hand against his chest. There was a shallow rise and fall of breath that heralded a life not yet departed. It made Porthos's heart soar even as he recognized the grave danger his friend was in. He needed to get him warm.

Porthos began unbuckling Aramis's weapons belt and coat to remove them. He noticed his sash was in the wrong place, around his shoulder and not his waist. He had to remove that too, then the coat and shirt. He found two patches of cloth plastered to Aramis's shoulder, front and back. Porthos carefully peeled them off, revealing two holes that could have only come from a musket ball.

Movement briefly distracted him as Rhaego limped over to them, bloody gouges across his neck leaving a smattering of drops in his wake. That looked bad, but Porthos needed to take care of Aramis first.

He quickly shrugged off his altitude cloak and wrapped it around Aramis, then worked to wrestle his trousers off. "Vrita, we need warmth," he called urgently. "We don' have time to make a fire."

She shuffled closer in understanding and he jumped up to remove her saddle. Then she lay down alongside Aramis. Her belly began to glow with a soft incandescence as she folded herself around him. Porthos watched worriedly. He didn't know what else to do for now. That musket wound needed patching, that was for sure, but only if they saved Aramis from the cold first.

He turned to Rhaego, who looked just as worse for wear. "Let me get that saddle off," he offered.

Rhaego didn't take his eyes off his rider as Porthos undid the straps and slid the tack off. His limbs were trembling though and as soon as the saddle was removed, he sank to the ground. Porthos eyed the wounds on his neck nervously. He was no dragon medic, but he needed to be doing something, so he went and rifled through Aramis's saddlebags for some bandages to try cleaning the wounds with while they waited for Athos and Savron to return.

.o.0.o.

Savron belted out a challenging roar as he flew after the red dragon. Athos leaned forward over his dragon's neck as wind shear ripped across his back. They were gaining.

The man on the other dragon turned in his saddle, his face half covered with a bandana that concealed his features. He raised a pistol and fired, the crack echoing like thunder in the sky. He missed. At this distance and speed, Athos didn't even bother trying to shoot back.

The red dragon turned into a dive and Savron followed. The masked rider bowed over, hugging his dragon close, but not before tossing a pouch over his shoulder. Then his dragon abruptly tucked into a roll so he was suddenly belly up and facing Athos and Savron as he fell. His core cracked with fulvous veins and he spewed forth a stream of fire that devoured the pouch and then exploded into a massive surge of purple flames.

Savron banked sharply away from the incendie-spurred inferno, barely avoiding the deadly fire. The move sent him into an uncontrolled dive. Athos's fingers felt like they would snap off with how tightly he held on as Savron shrieked and spiraled, the ground rushing up toward them in a dizzying whorl of greens and browns.

At the last second, Savron regained control and swooped back up toward the sky. It was another moment before he was able to level off in steady flight, and by then there was no sign of the red dragon.

Athos could barely straighten in the saddle as he cast his gaze around, but their enemy was gone. Though frustrated, his thoughts nevertheless turned to Aramis and whether Porthos had been able to fish him out of the river. He dearly hoped so.

And so with a subtle nudge of his knee, he directed Savron to head back to reunite with them.

He had just managed to prize his crooked fingers from the ridge of the saddle when they reached the clearing by the riverbank where Vrita and Rhaego were. Athos could see Porthos from above, but not Aramis. It wasn't until Savron landed that he realized Aramis was tucked against Vrita who was trying to warm him.

"He's alive?" Athos checked breathlessly.

Porthos nodded grimly. "He's been shot. Ball went all the way through his shoulder. Rhaego's pretty beat up too." He thrust his chin toward the russet dragon lying in the grass opposite Vrita. There were bloodied cloths on the ground that suggested Porthos had been trying to tend him.

Athos took in the information with cautious relief before he turned his attention to another important matter. "And the King's letters Aramis was carrying?"

"I haven't looked," Porthos said, sounding somewhat surprised by the question.

Athos knew he valued Aramis's life above all else, but Athos remembered their duty, even in the midst of his own concern. He walked over to the pile of soaked clothes Porthos had left on the ground and searched them. When he didn't come up with anything, he went to search Aramis's saddlebags. There were no letters there either.

"Well?" Porthos prompted.

Athos stood. "Unless he hid them somewhere, we can likely assume the masked dragon rider got his hands on them."

"It's not like Aramis would've handed 'em over," Porthos said defensively. "He's half dead."

Yes, no doubt Aramis had done his duty to the point of dying, and if it weren't for their timely arrival, he wouldn't still be alive at all.

But that didn't change the fact that they had failed to prevent the letters from falling into enemy hands.

Or that Aramis wasn't out of death's reach yet…


	5. Chapter 5

Now that Aramis was mildly warmer than the icicle Porthos had pulled from the river, they needed to get him to a proper physician. There was a village not far by dragon flight that was along a trade route and would therefore likely have a local doctor in residence.

Vrita carefully extricated herself from cocooning Aramis so Porthos could put her saddle back on. Then he went to do the same to Rhaego, but the russet dragon shied away from him.

"What?" Porthos asked gruffly, irritated by his worry for Aramis and the delay Rhaego was creating.

"Did he take an injury to his back?" Athos asked, coming over.

"Don' think so. He was wearin' the saddle when we found 'im." Porthos took a step closer with the item and Rhaego shrank back with a low mewl. "What's the matter wit' you? We need to get Aramis out of here."

Rhaego lowered his head and looked away.

Vrita came over then. Porthos didn't know what the two were communicating to each other but after a moment Vrita shuffled around to inspect Rhaego's wing. She then let out a bark at Porthos and Athos.

Frowning, Porthos set the saddle down and went to have a look. Well, no wonder Rhaego wasn't keen on moving out—there was a ragged tear in the sail that still had some stitches on one end but the rest had obviously been torn.

"This explains why they didn't get far from the border," Athos commented.

"Now what?"

"One of us will have to re-sew it if he's to fly."

Porthos took a step back and gestured gallantly. "Have at it."

Athos shot him a dark look, but of the two of them, the swordsman was the better choice for this.

Porthos crouched next to the saddle and found Aramis's med kit, which he then slapped against Athos's chest. He got another glower in return but ignored it and went back to check on Aramis. The marksman was shivering without Vrita's warmth, but shivering was good; he hadn't been when they'd first pulled him from the river.

His clothes were still soaked, so Porthos didn't think it wise to redress him for the journey down the mountain. He smiled when he thought of what Aramis's reaction would be to that…and he'd give anything for Aramis to wake up for it.

He picked up the sodden garments and wrung out the excess water, then packed them away. They'd have to hang them up to dry later. Then Porthos took a seat by his still friend and watched as Athos struggled to sew up the hole in Rhaego's wing. Fortunately, Savron did very well as a dragon nurse keeping the scamp from lashing out in pain.

Finally they were ready to leave. Porthos climbed up onto Vrita and Athos passed Aramis up to him, still bundled in the altitude cloak. They'd take a low flight to reach their destination, not only out of deference to the colder temperatures higher up but for Rhaego's wing as well.

They took off, making their way over the forest and out across the open countryside. It wasn't even half an hour before they reached their destination and left their dragons in a field to go find a room at the inn. Porthos got Aramis tucked into bed while Athos went to find a physician.

Aramis didn't stir the entire time, and Porthos was reminded of another time they'd plucked him half dead out of the cold…when they hadn't known whether he'd ever wake up.

Porthos wrenched himself away from those memories. Aramis had pulled through then; he'd do so again now.

Athos returned with a doctor in tow. The man looked Aramis over with brisk efficiency, cleaned and stitched the two wounds in his shoulder, and left a tincture after bandaging him, along with a promise to check on him the next day, though if he should worsen, they could send for him again.

Porthos only felt marginal relief after the man was gone, because now came the waiting. And he hated the waiting.

"I need to report what happened to Treville," Athos spoke up after a few minutes.

"We don' know what happened," Porthos said in a low growl. "Can't you wait until Aramis wakes up so he can tell us for sure?"

Athos was silent for a moment, then canted his head in concession. He left the room, probably to procure some wine from the establishment's proprietor. Porthos's stomach rumbled with hunger, but he didn't move from his place of vigil at Aramis's bedside. Fortunately, when Athos returned with a bottle of wine, he had a plate of food with him as well, which he wordlessly handed to Porthos.

Porthos ate heartily of the meal, though made sure to keep some aside for Aramis when he woke up. Athos seemed to be content with his liquid diet.

It wasn't until late that night that Porthos was woken from a light doze by a low moan. He jolted upright in his chair and leaned forward. "Aramis?"

Athos rose from his perch and crossed the room toward them.

Aramis lolled his head back and forth against the pillow, face scrunched up in pain. His eyelids peeled open gradually and he squinted in groggy confusion at them.

"'Bout time you woke up," Porthos said with mock chiding.

Aramis's brows knitted together. "Porthos?" he rasped.

Athos picked up a cup of water from the bedside table and gingerly lifted Aramis's head so he could drink. The liquid seemed to help and when he spoke again, his voice was clearer.

"The last thing I remember is the river. How…?"

"By the grace of God is how," Porthos replied with a huff. He wasn't religious, but he was inclined to give credit to the Almighty for them finding Aramis not a second too late. "We were out searchin' for you after word of the attack got back to the captain. Spotted you jus' as you went into the water."

Aramis continued to gape at him dazedly. "By the grace of God indeed," he breathed, then jolted. "Rhaego!"

"He's fine too," Porthos said with a smile of amusement. "Well, a tad beat up, but he'll live."

Aramis frowned. "His wing was torn. He couldn't fly."

"We know," Athos said.

"Athos sewed him up," Porthos said with a grin.

Aramis squinted up at the swordsman. "Did he give you any trouble?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing Savron couldn't handle," Athos assured him.

Aramis looked relieved, but Athos's expression turned more serious.

"Aramis, the captain told us about the letters you were carrying. We didn't find them on you."

Aramis closed his eyes. "They were taken," he said, voice heavy with shame. "I don't know by whom, I never saw the man's face. He wasn't Spanish though, or at least he didn't have a Spanish accent. He ambushed us in Sanveterre, killed the two Spanish contacts. Rhaego was hit during our escape. We kept trying to make our way north but he kept on our tail…"

Athos laid a hand on Aramis's uninjured shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. You did your duty until the end. Now get some rest."

Aramis's eyes drifted closed and his breathing settled.

"I'll leave in the morning to report to the captain," Athos said quietly.

Porthos nodded. He imagined it would be a few days before Aramis and Rhaego were ready to travel. And that wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with the captain anyway.

.o.0.o.

Athos returned to the garrison the following afternoon. He removed Savron's saddle but draped it over a fence rail rather than putting it away in the dragon tack room, for he intended to head out again once he'd delivered his report.

"Athos!"

He turned as d'Artagnan came hurrying toward him, the boy's eyes wide with concern.

"Did you find them? Where's Porthos?"

"We did," Athos answered. "Aramis is at an inn recovering from wounds. Porthos stayed with him."

D'Artagnan's shoulders visibly sagged with relief. "Good. I should tell Constance. She'll be so relieved. Ayelet too. She's been wanting to go after you to help with the search."

"I'm surprised you didn't share her sentiment," Athos commented as he started across the yard toward the captain's office.

D'Artagnan grimaced in embarrassment. "The thought did cross my mind. But Ayelet's not ready yet."

"That's a remarkably wise stance."

D'Artagnan's expression scrunched up in chagrin. "I am capable of thinking before acting," he said defensively.

Athos paused to regard him. "I know. You've grown a lot in your short time as a musketeer. I have no doubt you'll one day be the finest of us all."

He left the young Gascon gaping slack-jawed as he resumed his journey up the steps to the second level of the barracks. The captain's door was already open, but Athos knocked anyway to announce his presence.

Treville looked up from his desk, gaze sharpening immediately. "Come in," he said tersely.

Athos closed the door behind him.

"Did you find them?" Treville asked.

Athos nodded and proceeded to give a full report of their arrival at Sanveterre, subsequent search, and encounter with the masked dragon rider. Athos relayed Aramis's statement on what happened and included his own failure to catch the assailant after he'd taken the letters.

Treville placed his palms on his desk and leaned over it with grim heaviness. "The King is going to be…most displeased."

"Aramis did his duty to the fullest and almost died for it," Athos pointed out. It twisted his stomach to think Louis might want to punish the musketeer who'd failed him.

Treville shook his head. "The responsibility lies with me."

Athos was silent for a beat. "There is the matter of how someone knew about the letters in the first place."

Treville's mouth pressed into a thin line. "There are spies everywhere."

"How damaging could these letters be in the wrong hands?"

"I don't know." Treville finally straightened and went to retrieve his cloak.

"Do you want me to accompany you to the palace?" Athos offered.

"No. As I said, I take full responsibility for this."

"Then permission to return to Porthos and Aramis."

Treville nodded. "I'll expect you all in a few days."

They walked out but parted ways in the yard. Athos watched his captain go before turning to head back to Savron, who was ready and waiting. Both of them were eager to get back to their friends.

.o.0.o.

Richelieu wrinkled his nose at the wilted and bloodstained stack of letters that were just placed in his hand, the red twine that bound them unbroken. "And the musketeer?" he asked.

His man shifted slightly. "As good as dead. But…"

Richelieu narrowed his eyes. "But what?"

"Two other Musketeer dragon riders had arrived at the last minute. I thought it more prudent to get away with the letters."

Richelieu snarled and spun away, tossing the letters on the table. Those damn musketeers. _Every_ time. And Aramis…how many times did he have to try to _kill_ that one?

No matter though. The victory still went to him this round. He had the letters, after all.

But that had been too close. The King daring to write to Spain and amend the two countries' foreign policy toward each other without the Cardinal's consent. Just who did that spoilt child think he was?

No, not Louis, the Queen. It was her who had encouraged the King to write to her brother. Her influence had been steadily growing these past few months. It had been a nuisance initially, but now she was going too far, sticking her nose into matters of state. Richelieu needed to regain control.

He steepled his fingers as a course of action presented itself. The Queen had yet to produce an heir for the throne. There were rumors she was barren, though there was that one miscarriage. Yes, there was a problem there. And if she couldn't produce an heir, then there really was no other reason to keep her around. Richelieu—and France—would be better off without her…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> The arrest of a thief puts the Musketeers on the trail of an assassination plot. But with an uncooperative informant and betrayal within the palace, will they discover the truth in time?


End file.
